


we are the hollow men

by lakeshoredive



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, But with a happy ending, I think you know who im talking about, M/M, Mentions of suicidal tendencies, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, This is a fix-it but only half a fix it if you know what I mean, because I need a little happiness, blast to the past, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeshoredive/pseuds/lakeshoredive
Summary: It made sense that Steve had to be the one to do it, to go back through the quantum realm, deliver the stones back to their rightful place in time and restore the timeline. He wasn't really paying attention to what Bruce was saying as he approached the quantum launch pad, a universal quantum catastrophe, or something like that. Still, if there was any man for the job, it should be Captain America, the first avenger, America's best guy.





	we are the hollow men

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to say except that this fic has been a long time coming. I haven't written anything in quite some time, so this might be a flaming pile of garbage. In any case, thank you so much for reading. You have no idea what it means to me. Comments and Kudos give me validation, so please validate me :) 
> 
> Suggestion: Listen to the song "Stuff We Did" by Michael Giacchino from the movie Up for full effect.

This _is the way the world ends,_

_this is the way the world ends,_

_this is the way the worlds ends,_

_not with a bang,_

_but a whimper_

_\- T.S. Eliot_

 

It made sense that Steve had to be the one to do it, to go back through the quantum realm, deliver the stones back to their rightful place in time and restore the timeline. He wasn't really paying attention to what Bruce was saying as he approached the quantum launch pad,  _a universal quantum catastrophe,_ or something like that. Still, if there was any man for the job, it should be Captain America, the first avenger, America's best guy. 

The issue was, Steve didn't want the job. For the first time in his life, he found himself  _not_ wanting to do the right thing. He wanted to go home, wherever home was now. He wanted to rekindle old friendships and old flames. He wanted, he wanted _he wanted._ Mjölnir felt heavy in his hand. 

"Alright, Cap," Bruce started, clapping his hands together from behind the control panel. "This baby's ready to go when you are." He gives a thumbs up. 

He sets the stones and the hammer down gently, giving the ancient powers the reverent respect they deserve. Steve's seen what they can do, he's not about to throw them around like a toy, or a shield. Then he turns to say goodbye smiling while giving Sam a hug, listening to him rattle off about plans.  _Taco Tuesday is on me this week Rogers. Lemme show you what real spices can do._

Then it's Bucky. 

Bucky is quiet, hands stuffed into his pockets. _He's tired_ , Steve thinks. They're all tired. The world is tired. What gets Steve are his eyes, both incredibly sad and incredibly resigned. He's got the eyes of a man that has seen to much and lived far too long. Steve reckons he doesn't look much better. 

He glances down at the stones, then to Bruce.  _Don't do anything stupid until I get back._ An echo of oh so long ago. It hurts like a sucker punch to his solar plexus. 

 _How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you._ How the roles reversed. Steve leaves. Bucky stays behind. 80 some-odd years is a lot of time for things to still be the same. Steve thinks it has to mean something. Anything.

They hug, and Steve doesn't miss the way Bucky clings, holds on for a moment too long to be anything more than a final goodbye. Steve wants  _so desperately_ to ask what he knows that he doesn't because when Bucky pulls back he forces his face into the weakest, saddest fake smile that Steve has ever seen and says, "I'm gonna miss you buddy." 

And there is once again an air of separation between them. Not for the first time in his life, Steve wishes  _he_ was better with words.  _Captain America_ can rally the troops until his lungs bleed.  _Steve Rogers_ can barely get two words out before they get all tongue twisted. He's always been more of an action guy anyway. 

He picks up the hammer and stones and steps up onto the launch pad, fiddling with the quantum watch until he gets the date right: Asgard circa 2013. He gives on last look to his two best friends, giving a lazy salute with the hammer, which draws a laugh out of Sam and a more genuine smile out of Bucky. 

"Ready when you are, Banner," he nods at him. 

"See you in five seconds, Cap." 

Then he's gone. 

❄︎✪❄︎

Steve should've known, perhaps even did know deep down, that this mission, the end to the endgame, wouldn't have been easy for him. Because really, when did Steven goddamn Rogers ever make anything easy for himself ever? Truth is he fell into a deceptive trap of ease with a first three stones: Reality, Power, and Mind. He was in, he was out. He played around with a hammer for a pinch too long than was really necessary, but who could blame him? When was the next time he was gonna be able to wield something that deemed him _worthy?_ He thought he deserved the 20 plus times he called Mjölnir to hand. 

Now, now was where things got a little tricky. Because one minute he was returning the fucking Tesseract, something he never wants to lay eyes on again (in fact, Steve thinks he's gonna ixnay all stones from this point on). The next he's staring down the barrel of a gun. Not the first time he's ever done that, probably won't be last. It is, however, the first time in quite some time that he's stared down the barrel of a gun belonging to none other than Agent Peggy Carter, and god does she look as magnificent as ever. Her hair done in the typical curl he was so used to seeing and the red lipstick that was so bold, but so Peggy. Everything about her was a calculated move, Steve had learned. The hair, the lipstick.  _Measures for distraction, Steven._

He wished he had more time to admire her, the sheer beauty that is Peggy Carter. Steve could never quite get it right on paper. He tried, oh how he tried. But the lines ever fell right, the angles always just a touch off. She was tied with Bucky on his own inability to capture the essence that makes them  _them._

 _"Peggy,"_ he breathed. It struck him how much he had been trying to avoid this, avoid her, avoid the look in her eyes, the unbridled fury and confusion in them.  _Fuck it hurt._ It hurts the same way the look in Bucky's eyes hurt the first time he got a real good look at Steve after the serum, after Azzano. Something was invariably different about him then, something is invariably different about him now. Steve is really starting to fucking  _hate_ how these parallels are lining up. 

With a click the safety was off and Steve was grabbing the first thing he could, a silver circular tray, holding it out in front of him. _This is a familiar scene,_ he thinks. 

 "Who the hell are you?" She demanded, and really it's no wonder she helped found an agency such as S.H.I.E.L.D. She's had grown men trembling from the steel in her voice. 

"Language," he couldn't help himself. But it seems to do the trick because the gun lowers, just a fraction. 

"It can't be," she whispers. "Steve?" 

And as slowly as he dares, he lowers his makeshift shield. He doesn't want to spook her too bad. No amount of time travel could bring him back if he got shot in the chest by the woman he once loved. 

"Yea, Peg. It's me," he holds his hands out placatingly, in a way he knows she hates because it comes off as patronizing in her mind.  _I don't need you to calm me down, Steven. I'm always calm._ _I know that, Peg. Doesn't mean I want you to shoot me._ He'd responded in kind. There was always something so in sync about them. An easy banter filled with nothing but mutual respect for one another. 

_Oh what life could have been._

For all his placating, the gun is back firmly pointed at his face. "Not possible. I am only going to ask one more time. Who. are. you." Steve feels the panic begin to set in because how in the  _hell_ is he supposed to convince the last person he spoke to before going into the ice, the last person he promised a dance despite not knowing how, that he was the same guy, only aged a good eleven years. 

"Peggy," he pleaded. "Peggy please. It's me." He thought for a moment before continuing, "y'know, you once told me that you were gonna make me dance to _In the Mood_ because ya knew I wouldn't be able to keep up." What was most startling of this whole twisted situation was how quickly the ole Brooklyn accent seemed to have come back to him, in  _Jersey_ of all places. 

"Peggy, I don't know how to explain this to you-" 

"Then try," she interrupted. Steve huffed a breath, not knowing where to start or where to end, and he supposed it didn't really matter because as soon as the stones were in place, she would forget everything  _so fuck it._

"I'm from the future," he begin. "2023 to be exact."

Peggy staggered. The gun lowering completely to her side as she grabbed the nearest table. "The serum...?" 

"Did a lot more than make me able to jump forty feet across an open fire," A wet laugh escaped him, and much to his horror he felt a prickling behind his eyes.  _God_ he was so  _tired._ A bone deep weariness settled in him, one that he had been able to keep at bay up until right about now. Christ he's lived long. 

"Oh Steve," Peggy said, softly in a way that made Steve feel _home_. "You always were truly terrible at hiding how you feel." 

"I've been told it's one of my more admirable traits," he cracked a grin at her, and she chuckled. 

She was now leaning against one of the filing cabinets, her arms crossed over her chest as she studied him. "Taking something at doesn't belong to you?" She jerked her head toward the Space stone.

"Returning it actually," Steve said, turning and placing the stone where Tony had taken. Steve felt a pang in his heart.  _Tony_. There was a creeping voice in the back of his head that said  _he_ should've been the one to make the snap. He ignored it. Silence settled over them. 

"Steve-" 

"Peg-" 

They both laughed. It was ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous. Peggy wasn't supposed to  _be here,_ and yet here she was, looking as lovely as ever. Another voice piped up in the back of his head, only this one sounded suspiciously like Sam and whispered things about  _closure and peace._ And that's when the idea came to him. 

"Peggy Carter," he said, suddenly. "I do believe I owe you a dance?" He pulled out his phone, hiding a smile at the way Peggy's eyes went wide. He was almost positive this went against every single one of the time-travel protocols, but he couldn't bring himself to care even if he wanted to. Right now, he a dance to dance with a dynamite gal, and he would be damned if he would give it up. 

"Steven Grant Rogers!" Peggy laughed, trying to muffle it with her hand. "Are you asking a married woman to  _dance?"_

"Spose I am, ma'am. Bet the Sisters are rollin' in their graves as we speak," Steve grinned. Peggy laughed again, and Steve wanted to cherish the sound forever.  _I'm Stepping Out with a Memory Tonight_ began to play softly from his phone. It felt fitting, like the right kind of song for them. They were only memories to each other now. Steve was not the same man that went into the ice all those years ago, far  _far_ from it. And Peggy wasn't the same woman he fell head over hells for the minute she laid those warm brown eyes on him. She was married, had kids, had a  _life_. A life Steve no longer had a desire for. He had told Tony as such eight years ago outside the Avengers training facility, and it still reigned true today. Steve had a whole new life waiting for him. 

Peggy smile was incredibly soft as she held her hand out for him to take. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled as he pulled her close. 

"Oh that's quite alright," she whispered to him. "I reckon it's been longer for you?" Steve only nodded, swaying right and left. 

"I still don't know how to dance," he said, giving her an impromptu spin. 

"Seems like you're doing a fine job to me," she reassured, meeting his every step. They remained silent for the rest of the song, letting the soothing jazz wash over them.  _This,_ Steve thinks,  _this is peace._

And when the song ends, Steve holds her for longer than he knows he should, relishing in the feeling of having in his arms on last time. 

"You're leaving?" She asks when he lets her step back. She has a knowing look to her, one that Steve can't say he cares much more. Most of the time when people give him that look, they're about to drop a huge self-reflecting a-bomb on him. 

"I have to," he says. "Don't got a life here." He looks around at the secrets. He thinks of what he knows, the knowledge that would become fruitless anyway once the stones are in place. He has a mission. The end to the endgame. 

"But you do have one back home?" She prompts, smiling up at him, and he can't help but mirror the smile. 

"I do," he says softly. "I don't know how, but I managed to make a pretty good one." He thought of Bucky, how after so many years apart, they managed to find their way back to each other. _End of the line, pal. End of the line, indeed._ Peggy pulled him back in for a hug. 

"Tell Barnes I say hello," she chuckled in his ear. It would have made him shiver if he wasn't pulling back, getting ready to demand how the  _hell she knew_ _-_

"I told you, Steve, you really are awful at hiding your feelings," she whispered, looking at him like he was precious. "You get this look in your eye when you think no one is watching. It's only ever been for him." She reached up and gave him a feather light kiss on the cheek. "Besides, I figure if you're here, that means somehow he must be there too." 

They look at each other once more, committing every detail to memory. Steve loves this woman, but his heart belongs to someone else. 

"Goodbye Steve," she whispered and walked away, leaving him feeling dumbfounded and stupid and  _light_ and Steve  _wishes_ he could just go home now. 

"Goodbye Peggy," he whispered back to the now empty space, and yea, that seems fitting. 

He gears up the quantum watch for his second to last stop and blinks out. 

❄︎✪❄︎

It takes him approximately four seconds to realize from climbing the mountain to getting to the  _Red fucking Skull_ of all people (or spirit?) that he fucked up. Majorly. 

Blame it on his love torn heart, or the fact that he actually got some semblance of peace that he hadn't felt since waking up from the ice, but he made a calculated error and blinked into the planet of Vormir too early. 

Steve had listened, some, to what Bruce had been saying about his stone returning excursion. Enough to know that the goal was to time so that he doesn't run into their past selves from before the fight with Thanos.  _It'll save a lot of explaining, no doubt,_ he'd said.  _And heartache._ It wasn't said, but it was heavily implied. Steve thought he understood what Banner meant, but judging by the way his heart was fucking  _shattering_ in his chest because all he heard was, 

"Steve?" 

And he crumbled. Standing there, in all her beautiful, believing-the-cause, kind glory was Natasha. He was moving before he realized what he was doing, crushing her in a tight hug. 

"Easy there big guy," he could feel the smirk on her lips. Still, she hugged him back just as tight. 

"Cap?" That was Clint. "What the hell are you doing here?" He let go of Nat, stepping back away to study the both of them.  _Oh God._ He had to return the stones  _after_ their past selves had taken them. 

The Red Skull was saying something, but the blood rushing in his ears was deafening, which was bad because now Clint and Nat were discussing the strategy for how to get the stone.  _A soul for a soul._ _A sacrifice. Which means Natasha is about to fucking die._

"This means we won, right? You being here? We did it?" Suddenly she was back in front of him. She looked so hopeful. Clint was writhing on the ground, and Steve couldn't make his dumb mouth work. He felt paralyzed. Last time he felt this way, he watched Bucky fall to his 'death' off the French Alps. 

All he could do was nod. Her smile was blinding. He couldn't remember a time when Natasha looked happier.  _All she wanted was to bring her family back together. That's all she ever wanted._

"That's not gonna hold him for long," she was gesturing towards Clint, still on the ground. She whipped her head back to him, pulling him into another hug. "Thank you, Steve." And a sob escaped him. 

"Nat, there has to be  _something-"_

"Hush," she smiled sadly. Nat cocked her head to the said, studied him for a quick moment then got to work getting the Soul stone out of his briefcase. "One stone left I see." She put the remaining stone, the Time stone, in one of the pockets on his belt. 

"What are you-" 

"I'm not afraid to die, Steve," she said fiercely. 

" _Natasha-"_  

"But you," she turned the dial on the quantum watch to the left. "are afraid to live." She paused, squeezing his wrist tightly for effect. "And it's always been about  _him_ , hasn't it?" 

Steve didn't even get a chance to ask what the  _hell_ she meant by that because before he could stop her, she was hitting the launch button and he was gone. 

❄︎✪❄︎

Steve didn't even get a chance to process what had happened, or rather what he  _failed_ to do. The guilt was there, the same guilt that was eating at him about Tony.  _Shoulda been me. It shoulda been me._ But he wasn't processing properly because bitterly cold winds bit at his cheeks and through the quantum suit. He knew  _exactly_ where he was. 

The train. 

 _The_ train. 

The train that was arguably the beginning of the end for one Steven Grant Rogers. 

The train banked hard to his left, and he saw the scene playing out in front of him. This was where most of his guilt resided. His younger,  _much younger,_ self was down, slumped against the side of the car, stunned, and there was Bucky. His pal, his buddy,  _his_ Bucky, holding the shield up and firing his sidearm against the Nazi asshole in front of Steve.

Steve acted, bounding past the Nazi bastard, shoving him into a wall with speed that he hasn't used in years. This wasn't lapping Sam for the twelfth time in ten minutes speed. This was my-best-friend-in-the-world-is-about-to-get-blown-out-of-the-side-of-this-train speed. He grabbed the shield from Bucky, ignoring his cry of, " _what the fuck!"_ and shoving him as hard as he could back against Younger Steve.

Time seemed to slow. Bucky crashed in an ungraceful heap against Younger Steve, sending him back against he wall again. Knowing that Bucky was safely out of harms way, he gripped the shield as tight as he could and braced. 

Now, Steve was pretty used to being in free fall. The elevator incident, the Winter Soldier (because that wasn't Bucky, not in Steve's mind) blowing him off the highway into a bus, countless of drops without a parachute. But this particular free fall was so much worse than all of those. It lasted forever. Not even crashing the bird into the goddamn Arctic Sea took this long. 

But it did give him time to think. And the only thing he could think about was Bucky. He wished he had the time to memorize this Bucky again. This Bucky, who was war-torn and tortured, but still had that  _spark_ in his eye. That charm, that swagger that always drew Steve to him. He wished, like he had with Peggy, that he could have a dance, and maybe something Bucky would try to teach him would stick, but instead, he got to save his life, at least one time. 

It didn't do much to assuage the guilt, but at least now he knows. Now he's lived this, the fall. 

It occurs to him, as the ground draws nearer that he really might not make it out of this one. Sure, Bucky did. But Steve is falling to a different spot, and he realizes, belatedly that he could land on a pile of rocks, and that would be the end of him. His thoughts wandered back to Bucky.  _Christ he's gonna be so mad._ He could hear him now.  _You're a goddamn punk, Rogers! You hear me! A goddamn selfish_ _sacrificial punk!_

But in the end, his Bucky, 100 and fuck all knows year old Bucky, war-torn and tortured and stronger than any man he's ever met  _Bucky_ still has Sam. This time is different. This wasn't Steve losing someone. This was Steve saving someone. This isn't the Valkyrie, where he- and oh that's new. 

This is the first time he's given much thought to the fact the he  _might_ have been trying to kill himself. After Bucky. After everything. 

_The look in your eye when you think no one is watching._

_And it's always been about him, hasn't it?_

_Well goddamnit I guess it has._

He hits the ground knowing exactly why Natasha sent him here. 

❄︎✪❄︎

Steve is a smart enough guy to know that by scrunching himself up as tight into a ball as he can and letting the shield take the brunt of the impact usually works out pretty well for him. This time was no different. He hits the side of the Alps first, which  _ow._ Fifteen feet of snow surprisingly enough does not do much in aiding the break of a fall. He speeds down the hill, spinning and leaping and he thinks he's going to be sick. 

He stops spinning and rolling when he hits a boulder near the river. His whole left side smashes into it, and he can feels bones breaking, tendons snapping. His head catches the side of the shield, which prevents him from becoming a brain-mush canvas on the side of the rock. Still, his head rattles and his ears ring. He lets out a soft groan, tasting blood in his mouth.  _That's not good,_ he thinks. The cold is beginning to set in and  _God_ Steve  _hates_ the cold. He doesn't think those five years of therapy and learning to move after the snap are going to help him much if he gets back. 

He lies there, sinking in the snow, unable to move wondering if this is how Bucky felt. 

❄︎✪❄︎

He wakes to footsteps crunch in the snow and quick German accents. His heads hurts too much to even bother trying to translate, but he does keep hearing  _Captain America_ and _shit_ that is not what Steve would consider an ideal situation to find himself in.

He tries to open his eyes, tries to move any part of his body, but he can't. He's so cold he doesn't know what stops and what starts anymore. The cold has nestled underneath his skin, between the muscle and flesh, forcing itself into a space it doesn't belong. The footsteps are getting closer, and Steve is growing more and more conscious to the fact that while he might not be dead, he is seconds away from being captured by Nazi scum and turned into a mass murdering machine. He's lived way too goddamn long for that to happen. 

He forces his eyes open, immediately having to shut them against the harsh sun. He wonders how long he's been lying here. Hours? Days?  _Definitely have missed the five second mark._ Gathering what little strength he has left, he paws at the watch on his left wrist. The left side of his body as a whole is one fire, his breaths are coming out ragged, causing more strain and pull on his very much broken ribs. He gets the date right for the Sanctum Sanctorum, there are hands on him now, trying to pull him up, trying to drag him away. 

Steve just manages to jerk out of their hold long enough to grab the shield and punch the launch button. 

❄︎✪❄︎

He hits the rooftop  _hard._ The sun beats hot and humid the way only a New York sun can, but Steve hardly feels it. The ice settled under his skin has cocooned itself around his body warding off any heat that tries to pass through. He  _hates_ it. Hates the cold, hates the fall, hates the year 1945. Crumbled in an undignified heap on roof, Steve is feeling a little sorry for himself. He allows it for thirty more seconds before trying to move. Key word being trying. He thought he was in pain while buried in the snow. 

He didn't know pain then. 

His left side was on fire. His head was on fire, coupled with the unbearable cold,  _Jesus H. Christ this must be what death feels like._

"Easy Captain Rogers," a soothing voice comes from above him. He has to squint to see the outline of whom Bruce called 'The Ancient One'. Steve won't lie, she wasn't what he was expecting. Sunlight glinted off her bald head, her voice was smooth, but her expression was stern. Not a funny business kind of lady, he suspected. 

"I have-" he grunted. "I have the stone-" his right hand clawed at his belt, trying to open the damn pouch on the buckle. Her put a gentling hand on his arm, stopping his movements. 

"Let's not worry about that right now," she said softly, giving his arm a light squeeze. Then she stood, made weird circular arm motions in the space by Steve's head, not that he really cared. She was beginning to look blurry around the edges.  _Fuck, his head._

He thinks he loses time. 

Because next thing he knew he was in a bed. Or a cot really, bundled up to his chin in blankets. He had to fight the urge to laugh. Last time anyone had swaddled him like this was Bucky in the winter of '36, when Steve caught a fever so bad his bones audibly rattled. He'd never seen him look so scared. He thought it was the fever doing funny things to his mind when he heard Bucky say, " _Please Stevie, ya gotta make it through. I can't- I need you, you ass._ " He thought the fever was causing the hallucinations. He thought he imagined the feel of Bucky's lips on his forehead. Now he's not so sure. 

People are milling about around him. He keeps hearing,  _body temperature is still too low, been out for five days, not healing fast enough._ And huh, that might be concerning. His mind travels back to the words  _five days_ and that's what causing him to jolt up in a panic,  _ohholyshitfucking-ow_ that was a bad idea. Gentle hands are pushing him back down onto the cot, but he fights against him. He wasn't supposed to be here for five days. He was supposed to back  _home,_ back by the pond in goddamn  _New York_ where Bruce, Sam, and  _Bucky_ are waiting for him. He didn't even know what year he was in anymore. 

"Steve Rogers," that soothing voice was back. The Ancient One. "Glad to see you're back with us." He blinked owlishly at her. 

"Thank you for returning the stone," she continued on. And Steve, Steve was still reeling, trying to create of a timeline of how he ended up here, for five days. "Please," she held at her hand, gesturing to one of the other... sorcerers? "Have some tea, you'll feel better." More gentle hands pulled him into an upright position, one his body greatly protested. He tried to cover his groan with a cough, but judging by the way the Ancient One smiled, he'd done a rather piss-poor job. 

After accepting the tea and taking a tentative sip, hot but not scalding, holding the cup in his hands to will away the numb bite of the snow, he cleared his throat, "So, five days?" 

"Seven actually. That conversation happened two days ago." He nearly dropped the cup onto his lap. 

" _Seven,"_ he spluttered. She hummed. 

"You were in bad shape when you got here, Steven. I can't imagine what you did to get yourself into such a state," she raised an eyebrow at him. Steve blanched. It was like all those times his own mother, and subsequently Bucky would scold him for getting into fights at school. Only this was much worse. She made him feel small in a way no one has in years. 

"Would you believe me if I said I fell off a train?" He smiled a little ruefully. He briefly wondered what they-Young Steve and Young Bucky talked about as he fell off the train. If they talked at all. He supposed it didn't matter, now that all the stones where back and the timelines corrected themselves. 

"Fell or jumped?" She took a long sip of her own tea, the cup appearing through a portal next to her.  _Magic,_ Steve thought.  _I've fought aliens, found out my best friend from childhood was alive, seen nd personally known gods, but it's magic that gets me. Unbelievable._

"More like blown out of," he amended. She hummed again. 

"You feel ready to go home?"  _God yes._ He nodded. She raised an eyebrow. 

"I've had worse," he said, gesturing to his body. 

"Have you?" 

He thought of the helicarrier, allowing himself to get pummeled because there was no way in hell he was going to hit his best friend. Not after what they did to him, what they took. He thought of the way his heart stuttered and stopped on the highway, seeing _him_ for the first time is 70 something years. Yea, that hurt far worse than the cold he was experiencing. 

"Yes, I have." She took another long drink, nodding slowly. 

"Alright then, don't let me keep you," she waved at him.

But before she could go, Steve thanked her. He was polite like that. 

"The universe thanks _you,"_ she said in lieu of a response, stepping thru a portal and disappearing from view. 

"Yea," Steve grumbled, finally,  _finally_ getting to set the date he so desperately wants to go back to. "I bet it fuckin' does." He took a deep breath through his nose, or as deep as he could with the ache in his side. That bone-deep weariness set in again. Here he was, a man out of many different times. Maybe he didn't really belong anywhere anymore, a place in time that was truly his own. He eyed the shield, leaning up against the wall by the cot. Maybe he'll have to carve out a Steve Rogers sized hole into the new present. But by God if there wasn't one thing he was certain of: it was well past time to go  _home._

❄︎✪❄︎

Never, in all his years, has Steve been more happy to see a bench. He nearly cried when he landed seeing the damn bench. Turns out time-traveling with what is most definitely a concussion and multiple broken bones is a lot for the body to handle, even those of super-soldiers. He plopped down gracelessly, actively fighting the urge to curl onto his side and sleep. Sleep sounds real nice right about now. Instead he leaned his head back, soaking in the afternoon sun. The chill from the fall still held his body in a tight hug, but Steve didn't care. He didn't care because he was  _home_ and there were footsteps behind him with no German accents accompanying them. So Steve stayed with his tipped toward the sun and his eyes closed. 

"Woah there, Cap," Sam said on his left. "Don't take this the wrong way man, but you look awful." Steve snorted. He never got the chance to look at himself in a mirror, but he would bet everything he has that he ain't looking like a million bucks. 

"What? Is there something on my face?" He opened on eye at Sam. He was shaking his head and grinning. 

"Everything go okay? You're three minutes late." _Three minutes._ Jesus he'd spent a  _whole week_ in the Sanctum Sanctorum, and he was only three minutes past the time he was supposed to be back. 

There was something in Sam's tone that brought Steve to a pause. He quirked an eyebrow. 

"He's mad." Is all he said. 

Steve just hummed in response. He already knew that. 

"He didn't think you were coming back," Sam stressed. Leave it to Sam to figure it about before him. 

"Ye of little faith," Steve grunted as he sat up. He didn't blame Bucky. Given his own track record, it was easy to see how one might think that he might fuck off into the past. Steve was self-reflective enough to know that he kinda-sorta-maybe had a bit of an impulse issue. And in truth maybe he would have stayed in the past if he hadn't gotten it through his thick skull that he was incredibly, head over heels in love with his best friend. 

"What's that?" Sam nodded to the shield. 

"It's a shield, Sam," he deadpanned because at his heart, Steve was nothing above a punk. 

Sam scoffed. "Did you trade the title 'Captain America' for 'Captain Asshole' while you were out? I meant  _why_ do you have a shield. You didn't leave with that." 

"Captain America never leaves home without his shield Sam. That's basic common sense." Now he was just fucking with Sam. He couldn't really help it. In spite of everything he'd just gone through, he felt lighter than he had in years, like floating on a cloud. 

" _Alright_ you know what. Barnes! Get your ass over here and come deal with this," Sam shouted. Steve laughed. There wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be right now. He heard Bucky shuffle over and rolled his head farther back to get a look at him, with his long hair and tired eyes and hands still shoved into his pockets.  _Sweet Mary he's beautiful._ Bucky's always been beautiful. Steve wishes he'd have done more than try to capture that beauty through secret drawings and long stares. 

Times were different then. 

But times are different now. 

And Steve is a man out of time and so is Bucky. So really to hell with time. 

(Steve is beginning to think he might need actual medical attention.) 

"Steve," Bucky breathed. "What the fresh  _hell_ did you  _do?"_ And there it was. The voice Steve's been yearning to hear. Bucky would be screaming himself silly and Steve wouldn't care. Wouldn't because his best guy, his fella, his Bucky is standing right in front of him, eyes no longer tired, but alive and bright with worry. There's a glimpse there, of a time long ago. Of  _you just don't know when to quit do you?_ And  _I'm starting to think you like getting punched._

"Returned the stones. Just as the mission called for." 

"Uh huh. Looks to me like you made a coupla stops on the way." Then, turning to Sam, he said, "he needs medical." 

"Obviously," Sam snorted. Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Look man, I wasn't about to drag his ass off this bench until I had an idea what was going on." Sam gestured at Steve as he was watching the back and forth. "And to be honest, I still don't."

Bucky huffed, the same kind of huff he gives when he feels put out. Steve's heard it a million and _oh_ Steve loves him so much. Sure, they've both changed, in so many ways, but Steve still knows this man. Knows him like the back of his hand.  

Thundering footsteps followed. Bruce. 

"Hey guys what's the hold- oh Cap! You look _terrible._  What happened? And also you're like three minutes later than you should've been," Bruce said. It was hard to gauge his reaction on the tone of his voice. It sounded the same pleasant tone it had when Steve first encountered the Hulk/Bruce hybrid. Magic and Bruce. The two things Steve still couldn't get much a grasp on. 

"Yea, I know.  _I know_. I'm late. I look horrible. I get it," Steve sighed. He looked at the shield. He knew, deep down, what  _he_ was gonna do with it, and he could do it now, if he really wanted to. But he was tired. And cold. And aching. 

And there's someone he needs to talk to first. 

So instead he says, "help me up," with a hand raised. 

❄︎✪❄︎

Bucky, predictably, was piping mad three days later, when Steve's head no longer feels like it's going to explode and the serum is  _finally_ starting to stitch his body back together, he tells him the reason for his tardiness. 

" _Steven Grant,"_ he hissed. "You did  _not."_

"To be fair," Steve said from his hospital bed. The doctors insisted they keep him for a couple of days to ensure no complications. "Nat-" he choked on her name. He tried to push the memories of that desolate hell hole out of his mind. His time there with Natasha was so short lived that Steve almost thinks he dreamed it. He wanted more time. He wanted to find a way to save her. But she took that from him, and he was angry about it. "Natasha sent me there." 

"Why the  _fuck_ would she do that?" He ranked a hand-the flesh one-down his face, frustration clear as day coursed through his veins making him tremble. 

"Buck-" Steve didn't know how to explain; how to explain the  _guilt_ that's been eating at him since 1945.  _Survivor's guilt,_ Sam had called it. He didn't want to explain that yea, he's always been one to throw himself into a fight he might not win, but the severe lack of self-worth that grew into an ugly garbled tree with twisted branches and thorns for leaves sprouted the day Bucky fell from the train. The day he failed to save him. 

"Steve," Bucky said so softly it was nearly a whisper. "Why did she send you back there?" And who was he to deny him? 

"To have a chance at saving you," Steve said, looking down at his hands so he wouldn't see the crumbled expression on Bucky's face. It didn't stop him from hearing the choked off sob that tore from his mouth. He looked up in time to see Bucky turn toward the big glass window with a hand over his mouth. They never really got the chance to talk about this. With Project Insight, the Winter Soldier, Bucky fleeing, Steve chasing, the Accords, Vienna, Tony's parents, going back into cryo, the snap, the time-travel, the endgame: there was just no time. 

But there is time now, and Steve is done being a coward. 

"I never got over it," he starts, staring at Bucky's back, wanting nothing more than to soothe the tension that's built between his shoulder blades. 

"I got over a lot of things, Buck," he soldiered on. "But I never got over not grabbin' on to you." And suddenly, Steve isn't just talking about the train. But he's getting to that so he says, "there had to be one time,  _just one time_ where I got it right. Where I saved you." His voice dropped to a whisper. 

"I've never been able to-the _guilt_ , Buck it's-" he's stammering and stuttering and Bucky is still looking out the  _fucking window_ and Steve just wants him to  _look_ at him. 

"An' I had to because-"  _because because because_ "because I love you." 

Bucky turned then, and Steve could see the tears trekking down his face. He was shaking, causing Steve's hands to twitch with the urge to reach out, to hug and hold close and never  _ever_ let go. He held Steve's for a beat, the tears continuing to flow, not bothering to wipe them away. Steve stared back openly, pouring all the love he had into his gaze.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you-_

Bucky marches forward, a man on a mission, stopping at Steve's side. His mouth is in a hard line, but is eyes are _oh so soft._ "You goddamned selfish  _bastard."_ His words held no bite to them. More tears fell from his eyes as he collapsed into the chair beside the hospital bed. "You could have  _died,_ an' I never would have gotten the chance to  _love you back,_ you asshole." Bucky now had his hand in a death grip. Steve didn't mind. Didn't mind one bit.

"Buck-" Steve reached out and caressed his face with his hand, stroking his thumb along the high point of his cheek bone, taking the tears with him. 

" _Bucky,"_ he was crying now too. He brought his face to his own and kissed him as gently as he dared. Feather-light and the wisp sung. His lips were chapped and chewed on, signs of his worry. Bucky gasped, bringing their mouths together firmer, deeper. 

This was the stuff fairy-tales were made of. This was every cheesy romance movie Natasha made him watch. This was the sun and the mood colliding for the first time after spending every waking and closing moment apart. This was everything good and kind still left in the world rolled into one perfect moment of pure bliss. 

Steve wanted to live in the moment forever, to preserve it in a glass bottle like a snow globe- a moment frozen in time. 

Bucky pulled back, pressing his forehead against Steve's. "You're not allowed to do anything that stupid ever again, you hear me?  _Never again."_

"On the Bible, Buck," he whispers, cementing his promise with another press of his lips. 

Then Bucky is up and climbing into the bed, pulling Steve into the fiercest hug they've ever shared. Both men trembled in one another's arms, soaking in the warmth of each other. Bucky tucked his head underneath Steve's chin, listening to his heart beat.  _Lub-dub, Lub-dub, Lub-dub._ Steve ran his fingers through his hair, playing with the long strands in the way he's always wanted to, but never imagined he could. There was so much left to say, so much that Steve couldn't get out. Bucky buried his face deeper into Steve's chest as if hearing his thoughts. 

 _God_ Steve would jump off a million trains for Bucky Barnes. 

But he promised he wouldn't. 

And Steve, for better or worse, always keeps his promises. 

❄︎✪❄︎

He gives Sam the shield on a Wednesday. He drags Bucky with him, knowing that Sam would feel better with Bucky's stamp of approval. Steve had asked him, of course, if he wanted it. Bucky's answer had been a resounding no. 

_"Nah Stevie. Sam's a good man. He'll make a good Captain America." He pointed the butter knife he was holding at him. "But if you tell him I said that, I'll cut you, I swear it, Rogers."_

"Try it on," Steve encouraged. Sam looked at Bucky, who nodded the go ahead. 

"So how's it feel?" 

"Like it's someone else's." 

"Well it's not." 

"You telling me that doesn't do much, Rogers." But Sam was smiling. "You out of the game forever?" 

Steve scoffed, "It's like you don't even know me." 

Sam held up his hands. "Hey man you know I had to ask, with Barnes giving me the death glare and all." Bucky rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath. Steve felt like the luckiest guy in the world in that moment. For all that he lost, he still gained. It doesn't even it out. It doesn't make the losses hurt any less, but it does rectify his place here. Sure, he's a man out of time, but Steve's got a way of making time bend to his will. 

He clapped Sam on the back, knowing at the shield, the mantle, the title of  _Captain America_ was in the most capable hands he knows, even more so than his own. Sam will be Captain America. Steve will be Nomad. Bucky will be the White Wolf. And somehow, Steve just  _knows_ they'll make a great team. His best guy and his best friend. What more could he ask for? 

Slipping his hand through Bucky's, squeezing the cool metal digits to warm them, Steve leads them back to their apartment in Brooklyn, the first place that ever felt like  _home_ since waking up in 2012. 

... 

And later that night, when Sam leaves Steve will put on a record, and  _It's Been a Long, Long Time_ will play softly through apartment. And Steve will grab Bucky up for dance like they did back in the 30s when Bucky was desperately trying to teach Steve how to not step on a dame's toes. 

And Bucky will laugh and ask, " _Who taught you to dance?"_

And Steve will pull him close, breathe in the scent of his shampoo and whisper,  _"You did jerk."_

And Bucky will hum and pull him into a breathless kiss and say, " _Spose I did, didn't I?"_

And they will continue to sway long after the record ends. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine!


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